The celestial Muse was standing. With her right hand she measured the
degrees of the starry sphere by the aid of a compass; her drooping left
hand held a small astronomical telescope. Superbly draped, she looked
down in an attitude of stately grandeur. I had never before seen so
beautiful a face as hers. With the light falling directly upon it, the
pure countenance looked grave and austere. If the light came to it
obliquely, it appeared somewhat meditative; but coming from above and
from the side, the enchanting face brightened with a mysterious smile,
her glance grew almost caressing, her exquisite serenity gave place to
an expression of joy, amiability, and happiness delightful to
contemplate. It was like a song of the soul, a poetic melody. These
changes of expression fairly made the statue alive. Muse and goddess,
she was beautiful, she was enchanting, she was adorable.
[Illustration]
Whenever I had occasion to go to the eminent mathematician it was not
his world-wide reputation which impressed me most. I forgot the formulas
of logarithms, and even the immortal discovery of the planet Neptune, to
bow beneath the charm of Pradier's work. The beautiful figure so
admirably modelled beneath its antique drapery, the graceful throat, the
expressive face, attracted my eyes and captivated my thoughts. Very
often, as we were leaving the office about four o'clock to go back to
Paris, I would peep through the half-open door to see if the director
were absent. Monday and Wednesday were the best days,--the first because
of the Institute meetings, which he seldom missed; the second on account
of the Bureau of Longitudes sessions, which he avoided with the most
profound disdain: he would even leave the observatory expressly, to make
his contempt for them more emphatic. Then I would stand before my dear
Urania and look at her to my heart's content, enraptured by her beauty
of form and face, and go away more satisfied, but not happier,--she
charmed, but filled me with regrets.